


Fear (Doesn't Mean I Can't Fight)

by azerblazer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BAMF!Stiles, Blowjobs, Future Fic, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Peter is manipulative and calculating, Red Hoodie, Stiles is a BAMF, Stiles is pretty Toppy in this one...., Stiles knows and just rolls with it, and use it to his advantage as much as possible, baseball bat, older Stiles would so be taller than Peter, rescue the magnificent bastard called Peter Hale, sexy times against the Jeep, very slight mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-15 18:03:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azerblazer/pseuds/azerblazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is the damsel in distress, the Sheriff is the hostage, random unnamed hunters are the bad guys.</p><p>Stiles has a bat, a hoodie and a willingness to do anything to protect those he's loyal to.</p><p>Bring it on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear (Doesn't Mean I Can't Fight)

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I just wanted to write Bat wielding Stiles saving the day, and then Peter couldn’t help himself, and both of them know they’re manipulating one another on some level and still love to play along even as they do honest and kind favors for the other. And so blowjobs happened. 
> 
> I don’t even know.  
> Crossposted on Tumblr [here ](http://azerficupdates.tumblr.com/post/32986022632/untitled-peterstiles-fic-bamf-stiles-with-blowjobs)

He smells like fear.

It hangs in the air, a scent that has Peter inhaling deeply, eyes fluttering closed on reflex to focus all of his attention on the wonderfully familiar scent of Stiles and pack and the cold fear-sweat that wafts every time he moves.

He shouldn't have come here, they were older hunters, who would have no problems against shooting to kill. But with Peter and his own father being held, Peter wasn't surprised to see him.

His hoodie is smeared with dirt, there's an outline of a gun, Allison's maybe, and the slight smell of electricity. A tazer. He's afraid, and clenching his teeth so they won't chatter as the first of the hunters become aware of an intruder in their midst.

But his hands are sure and determined, gripping the baseball bat and taking the first swing. And it _does_ something to Peter, seeing those pale digits wrapped around the wood and squeezing on reflex as he swings again and takes a shaky breath. The fear scent spikes along the musk of rage, deep and dark and willing to drown everything it touches. He's probably seen Peter strung up and limp, the Sheriff dumped in a corner somewhere behind him. 

Even through the twitches left over from his torture, Peter flicks his hips forward mindlessly, sending him swinging on his chains.

A sharp scent of ash wood, another one of his guards go down; he's opened his mouth now, to get more of the scent in him. It coats the roof of his mouth and his pants feel tighter. The jumble of noises and shouts is shoved to the back of his attention, he has interest in only the red blur that is brawling and fighting and snarling like one of his wolf packmates. Blunt human teeth in a stretched sneer as he bursts a packet of flour to use as a distraction and pulls out all the stops, fighting dirty and without mercy and with judicious application of his tazer.

It makes his tired muscles strain towards the familiar, wanting to curl up into the pack and safety promised; sick of the harsh smell of wolfsbane, of strangers and the beating he'd brought upon himself deliberately. He would last longer than the unconscious Sheriff. Both a tactical maneuver and a nod to his packmate. The only thing Sheriff Stilinski came away with this night was a bump to his head. That might get him some brownie points with Stiles at least, so this night wasn't a total waste.

"—ake up. C'mon, Peter, sleep _later_ , escape _now_." 

The words are bitten out in a sharp tone, but the hands ripping off the wires from his chest are gentle and they smooth out his muscles every time a spasm hits. He groggily opens his eyes from where he'd begun to shut down and blurts out the first thing that pops in his mind at seeing the brown eyes, one with a black shiner beginning to bruise spectacularly.

"I want your brownies."

Stiles pauses and furrows his brows, lips mouthing the words back before he shakes himself and visibly files away the sentence for perusal later. Peter could slap himself in embarrassment, if he could feel his hands. 

Stiles drags a chair over and reaches behind himself to slide a hatchet out from his belt loops in a fluid movement that has Peter making a thick " _hnng_ " sound since he can't tell if his tongue is still inside his mouth.

The chains were tied to the high ceilings in the warehouse, so Stiles slung an arm around Peter's chest, pulling him closer and swinging the hatchet above him until the chain gave out and broke; Peter gritted his teeth at the painful rush of blood returning to his arms and proceeded to drape himself over Stiles exhaustedly.

There were mutterings and nudges until Stiles maneuvered them down from the chair, all but carrying the older man, the few inches he had over Peter making it harder to get a heavy arm over his own shoulder. They limped out and Peter was vaguely aware of the prone form of the Sheriff in Stiles' jeep before he gave up on thinking and smashed his face against Stiles' neck and drowned quietly in the other's scent.

A thigh brushed against his crotch and Peter's hip rolled, eyes snapping open at Stiles' incredulous huff of "Really?". He was weakly aware of his fingers now and used his shaky arms to pull the teen -only not really, his eighteenth birthday a mere month ago- to him and refusing to let go, murmuring a "Yes, really." into the pale neck before him and sucking a hickie wetly, tasting the heady fear clinging to the skin.

The boy's heartbeat stuttered, and Peter let out a calculated whine; nearly laughing at Stiles enthusiastically pressing him up against his jeep in response.

"You" press "are" _press_ "not" **press** "being subtle- _Oh_!"

A full body shudder as Peter bit into the now red skin, blunt teeth pulling another moan from the boy. His muscles were being slowly repaired, errant twitches aside, and he groaned as his feet left the ground, Stiles hauling him up against his thigh. He'd been getting stronger, filling out and of course Peter noticed, but there was a thrill shooting through him at how Stiles tugged him up where he wanted with ease and confidence. Blood on his clothes and rage _fear_ **rage** on his skin, it made Peter feel drunk as lust began to thread through the boy.

Riding Stiles' thigh, he finally lifted his head from where he had fairly mauled his neck and licked his way up to capture the panting lips, sucking in Stiles' tongue and forcefully slowing the boy's frantic pace with a thorough kiss that left both of them out of breath, hips working in a soft, steady rhythm; enough to stall the ache.

"So you finally make your move." Stiles hums against his wet lips, and of course he noticed. The way Peter slowly made his way into his home, his family, his life. Even more than the other packmates had. He's always been suspicious of Peter, despite the friendly banter they engaged in, his boy was smart after all. 

"It's all part of my diabolical plan, of course." He panted, smiling at his own honesty.

Stiles huffed and his hands squeezed Peter's hips, keeping him partially upright as he dropped to his knees and made quick work of his zipper. Peter couldn't do much between the surprise of having his feet underneath him again and having those red lips pursed tight around his cock. He breathed out a curse before leaning back against the jeep, spreading his thighs and helplessly rocking his hips into the wonderful suction. He imagined he could feel the electricity dancing along his skin again, with pleasure in place of the pain.

Stiles frowned in concentration, tilting his head every which way, slowly working his way down further and further before pulling off to kiss down the length of him before Peter would begin to plead with a voice like gravel for the sweet mouth take him back in again. It seemed to amuse and turn Stiles even more on, when Peter begged, wafts of arousal reached him every time a 'please' dropped from his lips.

Bobbing smoothly, tongue working around him, Peter had to turn away from the sight, his breath stuttering in his lungs. The urge to unsheathe his claws and grip the metal behind him was strong, but he snapped his gaze back as soon as Stiles hummed and took him all the WAY-

 **"** _ **Fuck**_ **."** He hoarsely growled out as Stiles swallowed around him and had to shut his eyes and bite his lip _hard_ , or every werewolf within a ten mile radius would hear him howling his completion.

He melted back languidly, trying to catch his breath and feeling the lethargy sink into his bones, twinges of pain protesting loudly once more. The crunch of gravel reached him as Stiles stood up once more, zipper undone and his own cum splattering his red hoodie. Peter expected him to spit off to the side, but he rumbled lowly as Stiles swallowed instead, tongue darting out to catch any stray drops. Holding the older man's hot stare, Stiles gave a lopsided smile at what he saw on Peter's face, the helpless easy hunger even as he licked his own hand clean, just to see Peter's pupils widening and his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed harshly.

"No evidence at a crime scene, you know that Peter."

This was going to be a wonderful courtship. Peter could just tell.

They left behind a burning warehouse, Peter falling into exhausted sleep with the scent of Stiles clinging to him and Stiles updating someone on the other end of his cell phone as they drove off, the far off sound of sirens ringing in the dark night.


End file.
